


You Told Me Again You Preferred Handsome Men, But For Me You Would Make an Exception

by feverbeats



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-06
Updated: 2011-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's been asked to trust a lot of men in his life, and he isn't about to let his response change just because he's developed feelings for one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Told Me Again You Preferred Handsome Men, But For Me You Would Make an Exception

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warning: dub-con (mind-control).

**Charles**

Erik tells him on the first night.

“I’m surprised you’re still interested in taking me on after rummaging around in my head.”

Charles shrugs, leaning on the wall in the corridor. It’s late, and all the government people are making themselves scarce. “I didn’t see anything that made me _afraid_ , if that’s what you mean. Just a lot of pain.” Thinking about it, Charles doesn’t think he’s afraid of much.

Annoyance flickers across Erik’s face so briefly that Charles could have imagined it if he hadn’t been in Erik’s head. “I’ve known a lot of people in my life, Charles, and nearly all of them can find one reason or another to hate me. Don’t pretend you’re not put off by _something_. Let’s see . . . You’re a mutant as well, so my choices are—”

“Wait,” Charles says, already uncomfortable. He’s not _afraid_ of anything, but there’s also no point forcing conflict. “I—Well, I haven’t got a problem with the fact that you’re a Jew. I mean, that would—”

“And so?” Erik’s eyes are piercing enough that Charles wants to look away. “Say it,” Erik snaps, his jaw tight. “I would. I’m not afraid. I’m not ashamed.”

“Homosexual,” Charles says lightly. But his throat is tight and he can’t make himself smile.

Erik squares his shoulders a little as though he’s spoiling for a fight. Even though he’s bigger than Charles, he looks vulnerable in spots Charles could easily pick out by flipping through his mind.

Charles realizes he’s thinking all wrong. He catches himself, swallows hard, and says, “I don’t _mind_. There was a lot of that at Oxford, of course. That is . . .” There was, but Charles was too busy falling over girls who didn’t go home with him or who did and made him wish they hadn’t. He hadn’t been confronted by broad-shouldered, nearly-handsome strangers with mutant DNA and confidence actually founded upon personal conviction rather than the hope he wouldn’t they found out.

“So kind of you to accept me,” Erik says shortly. “I won’t be staying long.” He turns on his heels and walks out.

Charles is staggeringly good at saying the wrong thing. He watches Erik go and considers a plan of action, but he can’t come up with one that doesn’t involve telling Erik what he is. It shouldn’t matter at all, probably wouldn’t change a thing (except to make Erik hate him less), but Charles still can’t say it.

The next morning, though, Erik is still there. Perhaps the lure of finding mutants like him is enough to keep him there, despite the fact that Charles puts his foot in his mouth with clockwork regularity. Charles watches the way Erik looks around the room and tries very hard not to feel a combination of excitement and fear. Erik is too good to be true, surely. For now, Charles is content for everything about their friendship to exist _in potentia_.

After ten minutes of ignoring Charles, Erik nods to him. It’s not as cold a gesture as it could be, so Charles settles back into being pleased with how things are going.

Erik becomes easily the best friend Charles has ever had, apart from Raven, of course, and Raven is—Well, that’s different.

Charles’ power has always been a joke, something he knows he should hide and uses as a party trick to get girls into bed. He feels differently about other potentially objectionable parts of himself. Not even Raven knows this.

Raven, however, is busy with Hank.

Charles is mostly busy with Cerebro, accustoming his mind to it as he finds more and more young mutants to join them. It’s usually the young ones who agree to come.

He steps out of Cerebro, his mind exhausted. He has a new list of mutants to find once he’s gotten a good night’s sleep.

Erik is the only other person still awake, waiting quietly for Charles to finish hunting.

 **Erik**

“Fifteen more,” Erik says, raising his eyebrows at Charles’ list of names. He’s impressed with Charles’ stamina when it comes to Cerebro. He finds himself impressed with a lot of things about Charles, very much against his will.

Charles stumbles a little stepping away from the machine, and Erik reaches out to catch him instinctively. He’s been avoiding touching Charles, because that tends to trigger thoughts he’d rather Charles didn’t pick up on with his over-enthusiastic mind-reading. Erik has never made a secret of who he is or how he feels. Charles, however, makes a habit of it.

“Dear me,” Charles says with his usual little self-deprecating smile. “Overdoing it a bit.” He squeezes Erik’s arm quickly. “Thank you.”

Erik nods. “You need to rest more.” He wouldn’t, but Charles probably should. He’s not as strong as he could be, brilliant though he is. Erik catches himself feeling protective of this idiot who has accidentally become his friend and tries to quash the feeling. He can’t afford that; he should know that by now.

“Rest.” Charles shakes his head and steadies himself against Erik again, practically leaning on him. “You may be right. We need to move out tomorrow morning. We have mutants to find.”

Erik ignores the little flare of panic that still starts in his chest when he’s reminded what the power to find any mutant anywhere could mean. At least it’s in Charles’ hands. “Mm. And you need a good night’s sleep if you’re going to be presentable to our new friends tomorrow. Here, let me take you to bed.”

It’s honestly not intentional.

It’s not intentional, but Charles still flushes. Erik tries and fails to feel sorry.

After a long silence, Charles simply says, “Yes, good idea.” He pulls away from Erik a little. “You know, it’s so odd, I sometimes feel as though I’ve known you for years. I expect it’s the mind-reading.”

If Erik were the type of man to be surprised by violations of his privacy, he gave it up long ago. “I imagine so. And?” He’s perfectly willing to push Charles, who seems unable to push himself.

Charles pauses and reaches out the touch the blank wall of the lab for support. “Well, I trust you. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”

It’s an odd thing to say, or it would be, if Erik didn’t know where this was going. It doesn’t take a psychic. Charles’ choice to trust him bears a little more examination. “Do you?”

Charles nods and turns his blindingly bright eyes on Erik. “I do. And I so I might as well tell you I’ve—I’m interested in you.” He glances away and back again, caught. “Romantically. You know.”

Erik wants to laugh. Charles Xavier, bearing his soul with no idea what he’ll get in response. Charles Xavier, who spends most of his days at least resting in the edges of Erik’s mind. The trust it must require for him to admit to having feelings for man who he knows for a fact has fallen for him. “Shut up,” Erik says.

Charles offers a baffled little smile, but he doesn’t raise his finger to his temple. “I—I always found my power useful when trying to get girls to go home with me, but I’ve never properly _been with_ someone. Well, been with, yes. It never lasts into what one might call a full-blown _relationship_ , and now—Well, now I’ve gone and made this terribly awkward.”

“You read my mind?” Erik makes it a question to give Charles a chance to lie.

Charles nods, not looking at all sorry.

“Then you know what I want to do to you.” Currently the line between sex and violence is blurring horribly.

Charles draws a sharp little breath. He’s not laughing now. “I—Don’t you think that’s a bit--?”

“Charles,” Erik says, “shut up.” And he presses Charles back against the wall and kisses him.

Erik knows he’s not a good kisser. He’s never tried to be. He kisses too hard and uses his teeth too much, and he’s been called “mechanical.” Charles, however, isn’t complaining. He shuts his eyes and presses himself flush against Erik, molding their bodies together as if he was made for kissing. He would be made for something like that, safe and tame and mildly sexy. Erik wants to break him to bits.

When Erik finally pulls back, because Charles hasn’t made a move to, Charles says, “Oh, you’re right, there are probably safer places to do this.”

Then a _government facility_? Undoubtedly, but being here at all doesn’t feel safe. Erik takes a different tack. “You say that as if Havok and Darwin aren’t.”

Charles stops cold. Erik loves being able to do that to him. “What? Really?”

“Our little psychic didn’t know.” He says it more gently than he means. “But if you like, we can continue this tomorrow. When we go out.”

Unfortunately, Charles’ list is long enough that they end up spliting up to reach as many mutants as possible. They both prefer recruiting people together (good cop/bad cop generally works well, even if Erik is always a little unsure which he’s supposed to be), but he’s willing to let Charles have a little space.

He isn’t expecting Charles to pop up in his head just when he’s settling into a hotel for the night. They’ve both agreed to meet up the next morning, and Erik wants to call it an early night. His recruiting trip went badly.

 _Erik. Can you hear me?_

It’s a testament to how much Erik has relaxed lately that he doesn’t destroy something out of sheer instinct. “Charles?”

 _Oh, yes, wonderful. You don’t need to say it out loud, you know._ As if Erik needed the reminder. _Anyhow,_ , Charles continues cheerfully, _I’m only one town over. I finished up early. No luck, unfortunately. I thought you might like some company._

“Here, or in our minds?” Erik says, stubbornly out loud. He glances around the hotel room, everything neat and straight and in its place. He’s not so sure he wants Charles here just when he’s relaxing, but he’s also not sure he wants Charles in his mind.

There’s a fractional hesitation before Charles says, _Our minds, I thought._

 _Coward_ , Erik thinks viciously, and he feels something in his head recoil. “I’m not going to try to control my thoughts to avoid hurting you,” he snaps. “In fact, if you expect me to control my mouth, you’re asking a bit much.”

 _I want--_ Charles sounds flustered. _I want to touch you. I do. But this is all very new for me. I don’t just mean men, I mean everyone. Not that I haven’t, I just haven’t often._

Erik laughs, and it echoes a little in the sparsely-furnished room. He loves how hotel rooms feel like home. He’s never out of place anywhere. “You can’t even talk about it when you’re a town away from me. What are you going to do next time we see each other? I do intend to fuck you, you know.”

Erik feels something in his head like a _shiver_ , a pleasant equivalent of a headache.

 _Ah,_ Charles says after a moment, _I should probably be making an effort, then._ At least he rallies well.

Erik lies back on the bed and casually unbuckles his belt. “Go on, then.”

More hesitation. Then Charles says, _Don’t. Don’t do that yet. I can see you, you know. Through your eyes, if I want to. And I do want to. Your body’s remarkably nice. I’ve been looking for a while._

Erik knows.

 _I know you do,_ Charles thinks at him. _I could feel you wanting me. Not on purpose, exactly, but I could._ Now _you can take your trousers off, by the way._

Erik does it quickly enough that he wonders if Charles _made_ him. Paranoia with no reason behind it is unflattering, but it’s also kept him alive this long. “Charles. Was that my idea, or yours?”

 _Well, mine, of course—Oh. Oh, Erik, no. I didn’t make you. I wouldn’t._

 _I wouldn’t, but I could?_ Erik throws back, in his head this time.

There’s a long silence. _I wouldn’t. Please, you have to trust me._

Erik doesn’t _have_ to do anything. He’s been asked to trust a lot of men in his life, and he isn’t about to let his response change just because he’s developed feelings for one of them. “I don’t, but go on. Tell me what you want me to do. We’ll see if I feel like doing it.”

 _All right. You’re so difficult. I want you to touch yourself._

Erik does that, too, but only because he completely certain Charles is blushing furiously. Having Charles in his head ordering him around doesn’t get him hard, but how it’s doing to Charles does.

 _Oh, God._ It’s practically a gasp, loud in Erik’s head. _Erik, your mind is—It’s filthy._

Erik grits his teeth and thinks as hard as possible about Charles naked, Charles writhing on the bed, Charles with his hair in his eyes, Charles touching himself, other people touching him, his limbs shaking, his skin sticky with someone’s come--

 _Next time I see you,_ Charles says, and his breath is coming too fast, _I want you to hold me down with those big hands of yours and aah--!_

Erik shuts his eyes and smiles as he comes, picturing what a mess Charles looks like right now.

After a moment, Charles says, _What are we to one another?_

 _For God’s sake,_ , Erik’s mind flares before he can stop it. “What do you think?” he says out loud, forcing his voice into neutrality belied by the tempest in his head. “You’re not going to shy away from it now, are you?”

 _No,_ Charles says, sounding somewhat started. _No, of course not. You’re my boyfriend, then._

*

Erik thinks, later, that he should have stopped it there. But he wanted so badly for Charles to be all that and more to him, and that was something he had never before allowed himself.

And course he never should have allowed himself to trust Charles.

When they relocate to the mansion Charles isn’t ashamed to have grown up in, they’re finally out of the eyes of the government. Charles has been edgy about touching Erik in a place that, to be fair, is full of security cameras, but now they should be free to do what they like.

Most of what they’ve done so far is fight.

“It’s incredible,” Charles says, returning from a training session with Hank. He’s wearing his ragged sweatshirt and an easy smile. “Hank says the work on a cure for the physical aspect of his mutation is actually nearly there. Raven will be thrilled.”

Erik has his own thoughts on that last matter, but he won’t voice them in case Charles objects. Instead, he sighs and starts the disagreement that is already growing old. “Why shouldn’t he be proud of who he is? If I were in his place, I wouldn’t wear those shoes.”

Charles wipes the sweat from his brow and leans against the wood-paneled wall, a bemused half-smile on his lips. “I don’t understand you at all. Why not find a way to hide the parts of you that make people want to hurt you? If you throw it in everyone’s face—”

“Throw it in their faces?” Erik snaps. “I would, and gladly. I _do_. I’ve never found the need to hide like a coward. If people are going to hate me for it, I’d rather know immediately.”

“That’s not way to reach tolerance.” Charles is getting agitated, Erik realizes with a vicious pang of satisfaction. “If we give them time to get used to it, they’re less likely to treat us like freaks.”

“What is this really about?” Erik spits, suddenly realizing.

Charles freezes, his mouth already starting to curve into a smile as it always does when Erik catches him out on something. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Erik grabs Charles by the forearms. “Say it. Say it out loud.”

Charles’ smile disappears. “They would hate us,” he says calmly. His skin is warm through the sweatshirt. “They would hate us if they knew we were together.”

One thing Erik has learned is that Charles is not as weak as he looks, and he’s unable to be swayed. He’s much like Erik in that respect. So all Erik can say is, “Let me take you to bed.”

With the curtains drawn, it’s dark in Charles’ childhood bedroom. Erik’s eyes haven’t even finished adjusting by the time he’s gotten Charles naked. Charles shudders when Erik presses him down on the bed and kneels over him, taking his own clothes off more slowly.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” Charles’ voice is horribly taut.

Erik realizes that Charles probably hasn’t _done_ this before, and for all his bluster, he’s afraid. Erik smiles. “Would it help if I let you into my head? Then at least you’ll know what I’m thinking. Tell me you don’t use that in bed.”

Charles laughs and stretches under Erik, perfect, pale skin a shocking contrast to Erik’s collection of scars and other marks. “That would be cheating, surely. But yes, I have. I haven’t used the control aspect, though.”

Erik places a hand on Charles’ chest, holding him in place. “No? I should hope not. And you won’t use it on me?”

“No.” Charles squirms a little. “Of course, I could make you do something and make you think you’d decided to do it yourself.” He pauses and looks at Erik. “But I _won’t_.”

Erik wants to run. He wants to strike Charles across the face and just _flee_. The worst part is, Charles doesn’t realize how it _sounds_. He’s arrogant, but he’s not a monster. He’s just a boy with the potential to become one. Erik doesn’t know what _he_ has the potential to become in Charles’ hands.

Instead of saying anything at all, he leans down and kisses Charles hard, letting his hands get everywhere, every safe and pristine inch of Charles’ skin.

Erik has had little time in his life for sex, and less still for romance. He’s fucked men and women against walls and in the back of trucks and on floors, but rarely—never—in a bed.

Charles huffs against Erik’s ear. “ _Oh._ ”

Erik stops. “You read my mind just now. You can’t just rifle around in people’s minds for something that might be useful, Charles. That _is_ cheating.” Because, he thinks, _cheating_ is a complaint that might actually register on Charles’ moral compass.

“Then . . .” Charles reaches up to touch Erik’s chest. “I want what I said. I want you to hold me down.”

That, Erik can do. He grabs Charles’ wrists and pins them above his head, drawing a gasp from Charles. “Oh, you’re _easy_ ,” Erik mutters. “Come on, then. Get in my head. Make me do something.”

Charles frowns, his face all blue shadows in the dark. “After what you’ve been through, I’m not sure that’s—”

“I trust _you_ ,” Erik snorts.

Charles pauses for a long moment and looks up at him. “I . . . thank you.”

This _boy_ , this insensitive brat—This brat who is Erik’s intellectual equal, who believes what he believes, albeit a neutered version of it. The boy who said he could feel Erik’s agony when all he could feel was a parody of it. And Erik _trusts_ him.

He shuts his eyes when Charles slips inside his mind.

 _Put your hand around my throat_ , Charles urges, and the words are something more than words, because Erik’s body obeys without instruction from him. He wraps his right hand around Charles’ throat, the other still pressed around against Charles’ wrists. The fingers of both his hands squeeze experimentally as he rocks hard against Charles, pressing their cocks together.

 _You like this,_ he says in his head, because he’s not sure he can say it out loud. “You like this,” he voice mimics, but he isn’t the one saying it.

He takes his hand off Charles’ throat and drags his nails down Charles’ chest, leaving a trail of red marks. Charles hisses, both out loud and in Erik’s head. _He’s doing this to himself,_ Erik thinks. _God, his ego._

If anyone saw them from the outside, it would just look like Erik holding Charles down. If anyone saw Erik’s _life_ from the outside—He chooses not to follow the metaphor to its natural conclusion.

Then Charles tenses under Erik and shakes his hands free, rolling unexpectedly so that Erik lands on his back on the bed. Charles immediately straddles him, looking tousled, pleased, and only a little panicky. “Like this, I thought,” he says.

 _Good, this way I won’t break you,_ Erik thinks irrationally. He doesn’t wonder if the thought is his own.

Charles places his palms flat on Erik’s chest and rocks his hips. “Christ, you’re amazing. This all right?”

“I trust you,” Erik says again. The words are a weapon, a blunt object in the way Charles reacts. He feels as though he doesn’t know what to do with himself suddenly, too much emotion packed and cramped in his chest, too much _pain_ and desire and—And realizes he’s feeling Charles feel him. It’s too much. “Let me take you,” he says, and his voice is practically a snarl. His nails are cutting half-moon marks into Charles’ hips without his permission.

“Wait,” Charles gasps. “Is there—Would there be a pharmacy open this late?”

Erik gives him a withering look. “I don’t have any diseases. I’m very careful. If you stop touching me, I am going to kill you.”

Charles laughs giddily and rocks against Erik again, his stomach sticky with pre-come where his cock has been rubbing. “Well, at least let me get some Vaseline, then. I hear this can be quite painful.”

“I usually just use spit,” Erik says between clenched teeth.

Then, without being aware of it, he’s spitting on his hand, hitching Charles’ body up, and reaching around to finger him none too gently. Charles, however, doesn’t seem to mind. He grinds back against Erik’s fingers with a cry, his hands still splayed on Erik’s chest.

Erik works a second finger inside, and before long, Charles his riding his fingers, lip bitten even redder than usual as he jerks back and forth, cock bobbing against his stomach. “Oh—oh.”

“Do you want it?” Erik says, Charles’ words coming out through his mouth.

 _I don’t know what you think I have to give you_ , Erik wants to scream, but screaming is a young man’s game. He hasn’t been young in a long time. Charles can get away with arching his back and panting the things he wishes Erik would do to him, but Erik has no such luxury. He doesn’t imagine Charles will ever stop being young.

Instead of thinking about that, he reaches down and slides into Charles, who makes a shocked, pleased sound. This, Erik can do.

Erik’s hand comes up to wrap around Charles’ cock, his intent and Charles’ mingling as Charles fucks himself on Erik’s cock, panting and gasping. He arches his back, throat exposed like someone who’s never been hurt, and he practically sobs as Erik pounds into him.

 _Oh god please yes more harder faster harder harder **harder--**_

Again, they come in tandem, and Erik only considers for a second that it’s because Charles is in his mind.

Charles rolls off him, shaking, cheeks flushed. “Oh, God.”

All Erik can think about is making sure he’s as close to Charles as possible. He grabs Charles’ arm and hauls the other man closer, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. None of the words forming behind his tongue will come out, no matter how much he wants to say something like, _I’ve found something I never thought I would._

They lie in silence for a while, catching their breath. Eventually, Erik says something both worse and safer. “I wish it all of it were branded on me.”

Charles opens his eyes and looks at Erik questioningly.

Erik turns over, watching the ceiling instead of Charles. “There were symbols people like me were forced to wear. I never did in the camps, but I’d wear it now. And I’d wear my mutation like Mystique does. I wish mine were visible.”

There’s a resounding silence from Charles, which is rare. Maybe it means he’s actually considering Erik’s words. Then he says, “But _why_? Raven will never have a normal life. She’ll never even be able to be honest with the people she's with. Is that what you want?

Erik laughs. “I see. And if I were like her? If I were blue?” He hates fighting with Charles. The urge to drive any nearby metal object through his face is almost unbearable

Charles hesitates. “Well, I . . . I don’t think this would have happened. It’s nothing personal, I just . . . Well, it would be different, wouldn’t it?” He sits up on one elbow and smiles. “But you’re not blue.”

“Mm.” Erik shuts his eyes and quiets his mind as much as he can, but he can’t keep from internally scolding himself for the belief that he can someday change Charles’ mind about this.

He shouldn’t be so bothered by it. He’s had worse things said to him with a smile.


End file.
